


I Figured Out Where I Belong

by E_Salvatore



Series: I Figured Out Where I Belong [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: A different kind of family, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Self-Discovery, Ultron fix-it (sort of), not very shippy, tiny hints at possible Steve/Natasha, twisting canon and backstories to suit my own nefarious purposes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 19:29:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4275261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/E_Salvatore/pseuds/E_Salvatore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha’s weathered a good number of storms, but she’s still figuring out how to pick up the pieces and carve out new places for them every time her world is shaken up<br/>OR<br/>The one where Natasha decides she’s been going about this personal life thing all wrong, because Natasha freaking Romanova doesn’t need a man to complete her. (A little company might be nice though.) </p><p>Title courtesy of Florence + The Machine’s Long & Lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Figured Out Where I Belong

“Well, what do you think?” Natasha asks, concluding their tour of the new Avengers facility.

Clint furrows his brow, studying the façade of the building for a moment before he gives voice to an answer that has nothing to do with her question. “What do I think? I’m thinking that it’s been six months now and I still don’t know what the hell your thing with Banner was about.” It’s moments like these that remind him just how much Natasha cares about him, because he’s pretty sure that if anyone else had said that, they’d be dead by now. As it is, she merely glares at him and turns her back to him as she walks away.

“C’mon, Nat. Can we talk about this yet?” Clint sighs, following her back into the building. The tense set of her shoulders softens after a while, the initial blow of his unexpected words easing up.

She allows him to catch up to her and they make their way to the helipad, where a chopper is waiting to fly Clint back to his family. Laura is due to give birth any day now, and his trip here had been very last minute. But when Clint had run out of home improvement plans and had started eyeing up the nursery, insisting that he could have the entire thing redone before the baby comes, Laura had kicked him out and sent him Natasha’s way. Clint’s also pretty proud about being the first of the boys to see this place. Even Tony hasn’t had a full tour, and the building practically belongs to him. Well, technically, it belongs to all of them. Everyone had been pretty surprised when Tony insisted, saying that the facility should belong to the Avengers, but they’d gone ahead and put down their signatures when Tony threatened to throw a fit. They’re not sure if Thor is actually allowed to own Earth property, but he’d scrawled his name on the damn thing anyway while Tony pestered Pepper to check with Legal and muttered something about forging Bruce’s signature.

Silence envelopes them as they stalk down four hallways, go up two floors and walk across a bridge to get to another wing. Clint expects it to last all the way until Natasha sends him off, but he should really know better by now than to expect Natasha to be predictable. “Do you remember what you said, when you guys found out Laura was pregnant again?”

“I need to ask for a raise?” Clint struggles to recall their conversation from seven months ago.

Natasha’s lips twitch into something that could almost be called a smile, but it dims as she speaks. “You told me you didn’t know how much longer you could stay in the game, especially with the way things were going at home.”

“Oh, yeah,” Clint’s eyes light up with recognition. “And you said at least I’d have something to look forward to once my old age kicks in.” He rests a hand on Natasha’s shoulder to stop her brisk stride and they stand, motionless, in the middle of an empty hallway. Natasha crosses her arms but doesn’t say anything about his hand, and Clint takes that as permission to pry. “What’s that got to do with anything?” He learned a long time ago that while Natasha has a hard time voluntarily giving up anything remotely personal, it’s somehow easier for her when someone asks her for information. She can twist it that way, make it seem more like she’s humoring Clint rather than confiding in him.

She manages to hold eye contact, but Clint can hear the dull thud of one foot tapping out a measured beat on the ground. “I don’t know how much longer I can stay in the game either,” Natasha says, her voice too light. Out of the corner of his eye, Clint can see her fingers tapping against her arm. “Longer than you, probably, but someday…”

Natasha shrugs off his hand then, and she resumes her brisk pace down the hallway. Clint falls into step next to her, waiting for her to speak again. “I want something to look forward to, something waiting for me when I leave this life behind.”

It’s the first time Natasha has voiced this desire out loud but Clint has known, or at least suspected as much, for a while now. He had been the only one to see just how lost she had been in the aftermath of SHIELD’s fall, and though it took Natasha a while to put herself back together, her eyes have gleamed with something new ever since the day she decided to move on. Clint thinks it’s a promise to herself. Twice now her life has been ripped from her, and never by choice. And each time Natasha has been left lost and empty, cast adrift. He thinks that maybe this time Natasha has grown sick of it, of dedicating her life to organizations that so easily turn against her. Maybe she’s decided that it’s time to build a life beyond the world she’s always limited herself to. And Clint can understand that; of course he can. It’s a feeling he knows well and a moment he remembers, because this was a turning point for him once and now it’s led him to a farmhouse, a wife and three kids. He’s finally happy, and he wants that for Natasha more than anything else. But he made a few mistakes along the way before getting to his farmhouse, and he’s beginning to think that maybe Natasha is on that same path.

Words have never been his strong suit though; nor are subtlety, diplomacy, or even sensitivity. “And you thought Banner could be that something?”

Natasha shrugs, and Clint begins to believe that maybe she’s not faking this, that maybe the shrug is real and not a carefully faked act to hide something more. “Logically, he seemed like a good fit.”

 _Logically_ is the magic word here. Natasha is a master when it comes to body language, subtle cues, understanding and manipulating the human psyche. The greatest irony has always been that she can understand everyone’s mind but her own. Hers, she governs with logic and reason, textbook decisions and reactions. So when it came time for her to choose a life partner, of course Natasha had shut out all emotion and resorted to making her decision logically. Clint doesn’t know why it never occurred to him. Bruce _is_ a good fit, on paper. Natasha could be his anchor, so he would never leave her, never abandon her the way her husband had. He wouldn’t ask for much, not marriage or children or anything along those lines (he wouldn’t ask because he would think himself unworthy), so Natasha would never have to feel as if she’s the bad person for depriving him of such things. And the best part would have been that Bruce could never fall in love with her. He wouldn’t let himself, guarded as he was, and so Natasha would never have to risk loving him either. On paper, Bruce was the perfect choice. But…

“You realize you’re not supposed to use logic when it comes to this kind of thing.” Clint tells her.

“I realize that _now_.” Natasha scowls.

“Okay, just checking.” He nods, holding up his hands as if backing down. They finally reach the exit and as the helipad comes into view, Clint gathers his courage to speak, his tone as nonchalant as he can possibly manage. “So now that that’s over with, are you going to throw logic out of the window and go with your heart? Maybe go after a certain war hero granddad?”

“Clint,” Her tone is clipped, a warning sign if ever he’s heard one from her.

“Tash,” He drawls in return. “Come on, why not?”

Natasha huffs in irritation, crosses her arms, mutters something under her breath, uncrosses her arms and sighs. “It would be Alexi all over again.” She finally mumbles, avoiding his eyes.

Stunned, Clint comes to an abrupt stop. “What?”

It’s been years since Natasha last brought up her husband, but Clint still remembers everything she’s ever told him about the guy. And no matter how he looks at it, he can’t find any correlation between Alexi and Steve.

“Come on,” Natasha turns to him now, annoyed. “Can’t you see it? Alexi chose our motherland over me. We could have made it, somehow. Run away, stay together, be happy. But he wanted to serve Russia more than he wanted to be with me. Do you really think Rogers would be any different?”

Clint is silent for the longest moment, staring incredulously at Natasha. “Tell me that steaming heap of bullshit is not what you used to talk yourself into dumping the poor guy.”

“It is _so_ not bull-”

“C’mon, Natasha, it totally is! It’s so far-fetched you’d need a thread the size of this continent to connect those two-”

“Are you seriously jus- You know, I expected you to be more sensitive about this.” Natasha huffs, and if Clint didn’t know her as well as he does, he would definitely have fallen for the act she’s putting on. As it is, he can tell she’s faking the hurt look in her eyes and the quiver in her voice.

“Yeah,” Clint snorts. “You also expected me to be so scared of this subject that I’d back off and leave you to your cowardly ways.”

Natasha’s eyes narrow dangerously, and Clint wonders if now would be a good time to rush to the chopper and give her a few weeks to forget about this. “I can still kill you with my bare hands.”

“You like Laura too much to leave her alone with three kids.” Clint waves dismissively, using up what little bravado he has left. “But I’m gonna get going anyway.” He pulls Natasha into a hug and presses a kiss to her temple, ignoring her crossed arms and tense shoulders. “I just want you to be happy, Nat,” He says, and Natasha finally sighs and hugs him in return.

“I don’t need a man to be happy, Barton,” She says as he lets her go. “Exhibit A: you’re a pain in the ass.”

“You know, whoever said _parting is such sweet sorrow_ clearly never had to deal with your affectionate good-byes.”

Natasha glares at him, but her eyes lack the murderous fire he’d lit in her earlier on. “And that’s enough. I’ve officially reached my Clint Barton tolerance quota. You can leave now.”

Clint’s already jogging to the chopper as its blades rev up, drowning out their conversation. “I’ll send you baby pictures! And videos!” He calls, voice raised to be heard above the din.

“Don’t bother!” Natasha hollers back. “I want nothing to do with that traitor!”

He sends her pictures anyway. _Fat,_ she writes back, sparking off a war of words between them. At least it gets Clint off her back about the whole Banner thing.

It’s pretty clear now that it was never a Banner thing, but it’s easier to call it that than anything else. (Clint sends her a message one day: _so, about the Rogers thing._ It’s the only text she doesn’t write back to.)

* * *

It’s amazing, really, how quickly she’s gotten used to fighting half of her battles with one hand wrapped securely around a firearm while the other maintains a firm grip on Wanda.

A ring of robots ( _why is it always robots,_ she asks, only to have Wanda question if she would prefer aliens instead) has surrounded them and as usual, the younger girl has unknowingly slipped her hand into Natasha’s as they do their best to fight for their lives. The first few times it had happened, Natasha had to forcibly stop herself from pulling away, and Wanda apologized about a dozen times or so. It’s just that she had never been alone, and her brother was always there to hold her hand, and _of course_ Natasha ended up smiling and telling the girl that it’s fine, she doesn’t mind, not really and yeah, this is a thing that can happen occasionally without anyone’s head getting bitten off. _Occasionally_ has somehow turned into _nine out of every ten battles we fight_.

Still, it’s comforting, in a way, to know that her young charge is safe and sound, by her side. It doesn’t really help much with their current predicament though, and Natasha shoots Wanda a half-apologetic smile when she wrenches her hand away to tap at her comm device, asking for back-up.

 _“Cap is evacuating a building two blocks away; the others are dealing with the incoming bots before they can get to the civilians.”_ A helpless Maria informs her. Natasha manages to mutter a short series of curses that cause even Wanda’s eyes to widen before Maria speaks again. _“Banner has been spotted nearby. We’re calling him in.”_

Wanda’s eyes are still wide, but this time they are trained on her. Natasha scowls, tells Maria to hurry up and goes back to shooting at the ever-increasing amount of robots.

“You will be… okay, with Banner here?” Wanda asks hesitantly.

“Kid, with the amount of bots we’re facing, I’d happily put up with Stark and Thor turning this into a pissing contest,” Natasha says flippantly, keeping her back to the girl. Wanda merely nods in agreement and gets back to work, shooting out endless blasts of red wisps.

It’s only when their enemies seem to triple in number and have them cornered that Wanda’s hand slips into hers once more, and Natasha pretends not to notice the way Steve stares at their intertwined hands when he and the guys show up to help.

The guys have the good sense not to bring it up on the way back to headquarters. No one brings up the fact that Bruce never showed up, either.

* * *

“Wanda seems to have taken a liking to you,” Steve says three days later, on their way to the debriefing.

“Apparently I give off motherly vibes,” She replies without missing a beat as he falls into step next to her. Wanda gives off some vibes of her own, mostly of the _young, lost, scared, lonely girl_ variety, which Natasha seems to have a soft spot for. But she doesn’t mention that, or the fact that sometimes she sees Wanda as a younger version of herself, or how whenever Wanda does something that reminds Natasha of how young she really is, the older woman feels a sort of fondness for her that she’s always thought mothers feel for daughters. She doesn’t know when she stopped telling Steve these kinds of things (can’t even remember when or why she started in the first place).

“You’re the fun mom, remember? You sass all the boys right back,” Steve grins, loosely echoing a sentiment Sam had expressed a while back during training.

Natasha can’t quite bring herself to insinuate that Steve is the boring dad to her fun mom, even though Sam has been very vocal when it comes to comparing their team leading style to a dynamic not unlike parenting.

“Does this make me Uncle Tony? I bet I’m a thousand times more fun than Tiger Mom here,” says a familiar voice, and the duo look away from each other to find a smirking Tony Stark a few feet in front of them.

“Why not?” Natasha shrugs. “Every family needs an alcoholic, washed-up uncle around during the holidays.”

“Ouch,” Tony winces while Steve tries to decide if he should laugh or shoot a disapproving look Natasha’s way. “Is that any way to greet your benefactor? Not to mention dear friend, teammate, former boss…”

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” Natasha declares as Stark falls into step next to her. “What brings you here anyway?”

“I was around; couldn’t pass up the opportunity to spice up a boring debrief.” Tony shrugs, nodding his thanks at Steve when the man holds the door open for his friends to enter the conference room where they usually hold Avengers-related meetings.

“Stark.” Maria Hill nods in the man’s direction, a curt movement that betrays none of the exasperation that colors her voice.

“Maria!” Tony grins in return, faking an unholy amount of enthusiasm. He even holds his arms wide open as he approaches the woman, as if going in for a hug. Maria looks horrified. Natasha hides an amused chuckle at her friend’s expense as she settles into the empty chair next to Wanda. Across the table, Steve slides into the seat Sam had kept for him and Tony drags a chair from one end of the table to the other while he asks Rhodey and Vision to make room for him. Positioning his chair in between the two and at the head of the table, Stark is directly facing the huge screen when Nick Fury blinks into view.

“Holy fu-” Tony gasps, nearly falling off his chair.

“Good evening to you too, Mister Stark,” Fury says cordially, his voice rumbling with barely-veiled amusement. “How’s that island working out for you and Miss Potts?”

Tony shrugs, regaining his composure. “I’m voluntarily sitting in on a debriefing, so what do you guys think?”

“Pepper’s away on a business trip for two weeks,” Maria clarifies for the others.

“Yeah, fine,” Tony mumbles. “There’s that too.”

“Now that that’s been cleared up,” Natasha speaks up. “Can we get this started?”

The others agree, and they spend no less than half an hour rehashing the events of the past week which had led to the battle in Massachusetts three days ago. Natasha takes pride in Wanda’s active participation as the younger girl joins the discussion and adds her own observations and thoughts regarding the event. The last meeting had seen Wanda speaking only when spoken to, her voice hesitant and uncertain.

Naturally, the conversation turns to the specific fight Natasha and Wanda had been involved in, and Fury questions why the rest of the team had left the two of them to fend against the largest number of opponents.

“I was supposed to be with them,” Steve says, shouldering the responsibility. “We started out together but as the fight progressed, I gave the order for them to go after the robots while I evacuated an office building.”

“Yeah, but then you told me to go help out,” Rhodey reminds Steve. “So it’s kind of on me. But then the damn things just had to start flying.”

“Anyone remember when I was the only one who could fly?” Tony crosses his arms. “Those were the good old days.”

“It’s not anyone’s fault,” Natasha says directly to Nick, ignoring Stark’s reminiscing. “We were just stretched thin. Besides, Wanda and I had it covered.”

Fury does not look pleased. “I heard you called for back-up,” He shifts his focus to Maria.

“We located Banner in the vicinity and requested his help,” Maria confirms. “He received the call, but did not join the fight.”

Natasha hates that she can feel at least five pairs of eyes on her right now. At least Stark’s distracted by his phone, as usual. “He showed up last week when I had to deal with a HYDRA ambush,” Tony frowns, tapping at his screen. “What was he doing in Massachusetts anyway? Oh, wait,” He answers his own question before anyone else speaks up. "MIT invited him to some conference thing.”

“You’re sure he received the call?” Fury presses Maria while Tony mutters something about being ignored. Rhodey patronizingly pats him on the back, a parody of the usually supportive gesture.

“Traffic cameras show him checking his phone just as we sent the request.” If Fury’s face wasn’t taking up the screen, Maria would have pulled up the footage. Natasha is suddenly glad for the former director’s presence; she can still feel eyes burning into her back as it is. Five bucks says it’s Wanda; the girl might have been forced to grow up before her time, but at heart she’s as big of a gossip as any young girl, and she finds the whole mess with Bruce inexplicably interesting. Maria’s voice breaks through Natasha’s tangent as she wonders if perhaps she should set some boundaries with Wanda, declare her personal life off-limits. “He put away his phone twenty seconds later, presumably having read the message. We contacted him directly after that, but he ignored the call.”

The second Tony turns to Natasha, she feels a burning need to punch the man. “I wonder why that is.”

“Tony,” Steve says quietly, his warning clear for all to hear.

“What, are we not going to talk about this?” Stark retorts. “I mean, yeah, whatever. Fine, let’s not talk about it. But let’s not pretend we don’t know why Bruce was a no-show, either.”

“Man, we could have _really_ used some help there,” Sam addresses Tony, making it clear whose side he’s on. “I’m just saying: he should’ve put that personal shit aside.”

Natasha cuts in before Tony can speak up, uncomfortable with the distinct impression that Sam is sticking up for her. There are no sides to take here, and she doesn’t need Sam to defend her from Tony of all people. “There is no ‘personal shit to set aside’,” She states plainly. “This has been resolved. So we’re not _pretending_ we don’t know why Banner didn’t show up.” Natasha shoots Tony a pointed look.

“Come _on_ , Romanoff,” Tony scoffs. “You’re calling him Banner again. I think it’s pretty clear-”

“Tony.” Natasha interrupts, her voice firm. It’s somehow more effective than calling him Stark. “As far as I’m concerned, _Bruce_ and I have put that behind us. If he avoided the fight for a reason, it was not me. Now can we move on with this?” She addresses the question to Fury.

And that, miraculously, is that. The meeting is over in ten minutes and not once does Tony bring the subject up again. He does, however, hold Natasha back while the others file out of the room after Fury cuts off the video call. “That wasn’t cool of me.”

Natasha crosses her arms. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s-” Tony sighs. “Look, I’m trying to apologize here, okay? Bruce is my buddy and okay, maybe I’ve been kind of a dick to you these last few months because I was being his bro and taking his side.”

“I wouldn’t have noticed, since _dick_ is your default setting,” Natasha smirks, deriving great pleasure from Tony’s attempts at an almost-sincere apology.

“See, this is why I didn’t side with you,” Stark huffs.

“Sorry,” She shrugs, making no effort to hide her amusement.

“Whatever,” Tony slips on his sunglasses, never mind that the closest exit is ten minutes away and he’ll look like a total asshole with his shades on while he walks out. “Look, I’m glad you and Bruce worked things out and everything’s back to normal, okay? And it’s none of my business anyway, so I’m sorry I made things weird.”

It’s a solid effort, as far as Tony Stark apologies go, and Natasha is speechless for a brief moment. “Thank you,” She finally says, hoping her simple words convey her appreciation.

“You’re welcome,” Tony grins, finally back to normal. “Now I’m gonna go; I have a flight to catch. Not that it’s going to leave without me. I mean, it _is_ my jet.” Catching sight of Natasha’s unamused look, Tony drops that line of conversation. “Yeah, okay, going now. Don’t miss me too much, Nat!”

“Don’t call me that!” Natasha snaps, but Tony’s already jogging out of the room and down the hallway, much to the amusement of the staff members lingering around.

“What was that about?” Steve asks, appearing out of nowhere. He follows Natasha as she walks down the other end of the hallway, which will lead her to the cafeteria.

“Were you waiting for me?” Natasha questions, ignoring him.

Steve looks away, eyes focused straight ahead. “Yeah, I just- I wanted to check on you,” He throws in a casual shrug, but it isn’t very convincing.

“Seriously?”

“Yes, Nat,” She’s pretty impressed that he isn’t backing down from this, and doubly so when Steve somehow finds the courage to look her in the eye. “Seriously. So… everything’s okay with you and Banner?”

“Yeah,” Natasha nods as they walk down two flights of stairs. “He sent me a postcard a while back, so I hunted down a return address and we talked things through. We’re good now.”

“That’s…” Something in Steve’s voice causes her to stop and stare at him. Under her observation though, Steve quickly offers up a smile and clears his throat. “That’s great, Nat.” When it’s clear that she’s not quite convinced, Steve makes a show of checking his watch for the time. “I’m supposed to go for a run with Sam. I’ll see you around.”

She knows an escape when she sees one, but Natasha echoes his parting line and makes no mention of the fact that it’s three in the afternoon and no one goes for a run while the sun is this high in the sky. She’s even gracious enough not to mention Steve’s little lie to Sam when she finds him in the cafeteria, trying to explain why Internet memes are funny to Vision.

“Again,” Vision says, and she’s never going to get past the fact that he sounds exactly like JARVIS. “I must reiterate that objectively, I understand the appeal of the memes. But personally, I do not find any humor in them.”

“You’re killing me,” Sam shakes his head. “You are literally – hey, Natasha. Didn’t see you there.”

“You never do,” Natasha teases him. “Vision,” She nods cordially at the other man.

“Agent Romanoff,” Vision greets with a smile. “Would you like to join us?”

“Thanks, but I’m actually looking for Wanda.” Natasha explains. They usually share a snack around this time of day, before Natasha subjects the girl to hours of knife-throwing, target-shooting and a few rounds of sparring. Wanda is so inexperienced when it comes to combat, and Natasha dreads the thought of an enemy who might somehow neutralize the girl’s powers. She’d be an easy target without her magic.

“Oh,” Sam turns serious, putting down the sandwich he’d been about to take a bite out of. “I saw her leaving through the exit near the bridge. She’s probably… you know.”

Natasha thanks Sam and bids the guys a quick goodbye before she heads for the bridge that connects the main building and the living area. There’s an exit right before the bridge that leads out to a wooded area they often use for training, since a surprising number of their fights take place in forests for some reason. At the very edge of the woods, a lone weeping willow stands. It sticks out like a sore thumb in a sea of the usual birch, pine and ash trees, and there had been talk of cutting the ancient-looking thing down. When Natasha had stumbled upon Wanda hiding under the tree one day, she’d quickly put an end to that idea.

Today, she finds Wanda under the tree once more. She parts the hanging branches like curtains, alerting the girl to her presence.

“Natasha,” Wanda rasps, hastily swiping away tears. Natasha sinks down to the ground next to her, their backs against the tree. If you look closely at the ground, a faint ring of freshly-overturned soil is barely visible, blades of grass advancing to reclaim their territory. The grass grows too slow; it’s been seven weeks since Wanda dug up a circle around the tree and buried Pietro’s ashes here.

“Hey,” Natasha sighs when Wanda’s hand instinctively seeks out her own. “I didn’t know you were coming here today.” She wonders if that’s the right thing to say. It’s funny, really, when she thinks about it. The Red Room had taught her nearly everything there is to know when it comes to emotions and human interaction. She can threaten, seduce, befriend, charm, scare… but she’s never quite figured out how to console and soothe, how to help someone work through the exact same grief she herself has survived too many times.

“I thought I had a bit of time, before our meeting.” Wanda says in between deep, even breaths. With every exhale, all evidence of her crying slowly leaves her voice.

“We don’t have to train today,” Natasha offers. “If you’d rather stay here…”

“No, no,” Wanda shakes her head. She pats the ground, a goodbye of sorts, and uses the hand still holding Natasha’s to pull them both up. “We should.”

“Alright,” Natasha shrugs, letting the girl pull her to her feet. Wanda lets go of her hand then, and the walk back to the building is silent. Still, Natasha knows it’s only a matter of time before Wanda shakes off the haze of grief and turns her attention elsewhere to distract herself from thoughts of her brother.

As expected, Wanda starts speaking as soon as they enter the practice wing, dedicated entirely to indoor training. “Is it true, that you and the Hu… and Doctor Banner have resolved your differences?”

“Did anyone ever teach you to mind your own business?” Natasha asks, though her amused tone makes it clear she isn’t actually displeased with the girl. Wanda smiles sheepishly and ducks her head.

“There wasn’t much for us to discuss,” Natasha tells her, taking pity on the girl and her burning curiosity. “Bruce and I were sort of… caught up in the moment. But when we had time to really think about it, this wasn’t something either of us wanted.”

“What do you mean?” Wanda blurts out before she can stop herself. “Sorry,” She mumbles when Natasha shakes her head at the nosy girl.

“Busybody,” Natasha smiles fondly as they enter the practice room she’s claimed for knife-throwing. Still, she might as well answer all of Wanda’s questions and get this over with. It would make things easier if Wanda were to stop asking questions about her personal life every five seconds, or so Natasha tells herself. The fact that she’s been wanting to talk to someone about this and she hates talking to Clint on the phone because the baby is always crying in the background is irrelevant.

“You know what happened with HYDRA and SHIELD, right? The year before this whole mess with Ultron.”

“When you found out about HYDRA infiltrating SHIELD?” Wanda asks. “They told us about that; said it was only a matter of time before you started hunting down the rest of us.”

“Yeah, it took a while before we started going after the rest of HYDRA’s heads though. We took the biggest one down, but SHIELD burned up right along with it.” Natasha tells her as they head for the glass case where dozens of knives sit in their respective sheaths. Wanda listens attentively as they pick out their weapons.

“That wasn’t the first time I had to walk away from everything I knew, but it was the first time I started questioning my decision to continuously devote my life to an organization. No, not that one,” Wanda puts down the knife she’d reached for and turns questioning eyes upon Natasha. “It’s got serrated edges; messes with the balance when you’re learning how to throw them. Stick with the straight-edged ones for now.”

Wanda holds a knife up for her inspection. “Yeah, that’s good. Come on.” Natasha collects the four knives she’s picked out and Wanda does the same for her selection. Together, they walk to the opposite end of the room, where tall blocks of wood wait to be grievously injured.

“After that, I thought maybe I should reconsider my life choices,” Natasha goes on with her story as she corrects Wanda’s stance. “And I got a bit caught up in my daydream of having a normal life. Banner had the same daydream too, but we’re not really the kind of people to settle down, you know? So we didn’t take it seriously, but we’d joke around about moving to an island, or buying a house in the suburbs, things like that. Next thing you know, we’re thinking about running off together.”

Natasha performs a quick demonstration, drawing attention to her footing and the force with which she throws the knife. It cuts through the air and embeds itself in the exact same place all of her knives do, her previous throws having left a distinct mark by now. “Your turn.”

Wanda steps forward, biting into her lower lip as she concentrates on the task at hand. “So what changed your mind?” She asks as she tests the weight of the knife in her hand, drawing back her arm and faking a few throws to get a grip on her technique.

“I kind of hate tropical islands,” Natasha shrugs. “And I only live in the suburbs when I’m undercover.” Wanda stares at her, looking lost. “Focus,” Natasha reminds her sharply. She quickly turns her attention back to her target.

“I realized that we don’t want the same things,” She clarifies for Wanda as the girl finally sets her knife flying. It veers off course and clatters to the ground two feet away from the wooden block. Wanda scurries off to retrieve the knife.

“Sorry,” Wanda mumbles, getting back into position.

“You get unlimited throws, kid. Keep trying.”

Wanda nods and goes back to her fake throws, trying to get a sense of the force required. “So what _do_ you want?” She can’t help herself from asking.

“This,” Natasha answers easily. “Saving the world, watching you kids slowly get better at the drills Rogers and I put you through, scaring the living crap out of every agent who gets caught staring at me.”

“But isn’t this what your life was before SHIELD was destroyed?” Wanda asks, sparing her a questioning look before she sends her knife sailing through the air again. This time, it actually hits the wood and stays in there.

“Did you aim for that spot?” Natasha checks.

“No,” Wanda admits grudgingly as she tugs at her knife. “It was supposed to land near yours.”

“You got it in pretty deep,” She notes as Wanda finally manages to get the knife out. “That’s a start.”

It takes Wanda seven more attempts before her knife embeds itself within the general vicinity of Natasha’s, and all the while Natasha ponders the girl’s question. On paper, perhaps her life seems just as it was a year ago, before everything went to hell. But there’s a difference, somehow. Maybe it’s the fact that she places her trust in her teammates now, not the organization she works for. Or maybe she’s just happier because she can vicariously live out her dreams of domestic bliss through Clint. Maybe… maybe it just took the past year and running down the wrong path to realize this is the life she wants, after all.

After Wanda manages to hit the same spot three times in a row, they decide to call it a day and move on to the shooting range. As they replace the knives in their glass case, Natasha finally settles on what she thinks might be the right answer.

Maybe this isn’t the life she wants, or maybe it is but it won’t always be. Someday she might want more but she’s never going to want an island or the suburbs or someone else’s dreams. Natasha doesn’t know what her future holds but for once, she’s not actively thinking about it. Even when she was stuck in the Red Room, even when all that mattered was using SHIELD to clear out her ledger – even then her mind was always thinking up contingency plans and conjuring possible futures, dreaming of a _someday_ when she would be happy.

When she wakes up in the mornings, sometimes she can hear Steve and Sam holler good-natured slights at each other as they race past her window. At breakfast, Wanda is always excited to share some new progress of hers and Natasha actually looks forward to these moments when the girl’s face lights up and she talks about this new thing she did with her magic or that thing Vision taught her to do with a computer or the new move Steve taught her to flip a grown man over and throw him to the ground. When the team assembles for training sessions, she takes pride in noting the vast improvement she can see compared to their first few days. And at night, when she’s still on alert and prepared to be called into battle at any moment, she manages - somehow - to sleep well, knowing that the battles they fight are now the right ones.

And maybe, just maybe, this is what it feels like to be happy. This is what it feels like to have a home – she’s actually got _pictures_ in her apartment now – and this is what it feels like to belong – Sam calls her _mom_ as a joke but she knows the team looks to her for guidance just as much as they depend on Steve – and this is what it feels like to finally live in that someday.

It might not be the someday she’s always pictured – a home she’ll never have to leave, a family no one can take from her… but this is her home now, isn’t it? Sometimes she falls asleep at night without realizing, without needing to check for a knife under her pillow or making sure her emergency bag is by the bed. And who’s to say what defines a family? Who’s to say this can’t be her family?

Natasha’s life has never been conventional, by any standards, and she wonders now why she ever thought her happiness would come from the same things everyone else’s does.

 _I don’t need a man to be happy_ , she’d said to Clint. Maybe she was right after all.

* * *

Steve shows up at her door three weeks later.

“You’re not with Bruce.” She’s not sure if he meant for that to come across as a question or a statement, but what she hears is definitely the latter.

“What?”

The last twenty-one days have, quite possibly, been the happiest of her life. It’s nothing much, this life – holding Wanda’s hand as she slowly sheds less tears each day and finds a way to dig up memories of happier times, encouraging Sam when he decides to be an idiot and take up Rhodey’s challenge to soar through the air, video-calling Clint’s family every other day and relishing the pure joy in the kids’ eyes when they see her, their third-favorite person – but it’s finally, for once, something she can call her own. Something she can fight to keep, not just another life of servitude (albeit willing) to an organization that will inevitably crash and burn while she watches and wonders if there’ll be anything left to salvage in the aftermath of yet another disaster.

So yes, Steve’s sudden appearance at her door and his abrupt manner catch her off-guard, and she can only watch silently as he invites himself into her living quarters. Natasha had specifically asked for something spacious, a place where she could finally have her own kitchen and a living room to fill with bookcases, a spare room in case the kids ever come to visit her. It’s no house in the suburbs but it feels more like home than a white picket fence and a carefully-landscaped front yard ever could.

She can see Steve’s eyes sweep through her living space, taking in all of the picture frames and little knick-knacks her previous dwelling places had always lacked. He looks like he might back down, might drop his odd line of conversation and make some polite remark about her home instead. Natasha doesn’t let him.

“What do you mean I’m not with Bruce?” She finally asks, crossing her arms as she leans against a wall while Steve stands in the middle of the living room.

“It,” Steve is slow to answer, looking anywhere but at her for a good thirty seconds before he finally, reluctantly focuses on her. “It just happened to come up at dinner just now. Wanda told me.”

“I could’ve told you that,” Natasha shrugs, easing her weight off the wall in favor of making for the kitchen. Steve trails after her and watches as she pulls out two clean glasses. “Water or orange juice?”

“Water’s fine,” He nods his thanks. “You said you two talked things through, Nat. _We’re good now_ – that’s what you told me.”

“We are,” She holds out a glass, stepping back to lean against the kitchen counter after Steve takes his drink from her. “We talked things through and realized we don’t actually miss each other the way two people who are romantically involved should. So then we discussed what we want to be and we’re good now, as _friends_.”

Steve looks equal parts stunned, angry, relieved, frustrated and a dozen other things Natasha doesn’t want to think about. “But you- Nat, I thought… why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” Natasha sets down her glass and lithely hops up to sit on the counter, her legs swinging lazily back and forth. “I thought I was pretty clear.”

“Not clear enough,” Steve mutters. Natasha hums wordlessly in reply, and they simply linger in the kitchen while she swings her legs and he tries to organize his thoughts. After a while, Natasha pushes herself off the counter and leads the way to the living room, and Steve takes up one end of the sofa while Natasha sets up the TV and fires up another movie off the list she’s memorized.

“I missed you,” Steve finally gives voice to the words that have haunted him for more than a year now. “After we left Washington.”

Natasha forgoes the other end of the sofa and chooses to sit in the middle. “I know,” She says. It’s not quite the right thing to say, but it’s not as flippant as it could be, and Steve takes that as a sign to go on.

“And I,” He keeps his eyes firmly set upon the TV. “I thought maybe we could have something. I thought we _had_ something.”

“We did,” Natasha whispers after what feels like an eternity.

Somehow, _we did_ hurts more than _I don’t know what you’re going on about_ would have. “And when we-” She wishes he would just _stop_ , and the thought takes Natasha by surprise. She’s never been one to run away from a confrontation – and their conversation slowly feels like more and more of one, especially with the next words out of Steve’s mouth. “When we met again, you had this thing with Bruce going on and I just… God, Natasha, I thought it was all in my head. And I decided to back off, to try and let you be happy with Banner. And now you tell me that was all for nothing and you’ve decided you don’t want to be with him after all?”

Now he turns to look at her, and Natasha reluctantly tears her eyes away from the screen. “I’ve decided I don’t want to be with _anyone_ after all,” She says bluntly. Her voice is flat but not even the most stilted delivery could have dulled the sharp edges of her words. “I’ve finally figured out who I am, Steve, and I don’t need or want that to be tied up in another person. I can finally just be myself, and know who that is, without feeling like I need another person or another name or another _life_ before I can let things fall into place.”

To his credit, Steve does look mildly embarrassed and guilty for pressing her on such an insignificant matter in the face of her finally having found her place in life. Natasha decides to let him off easy, just this once. “I don’t need to chase after some dream of happiness anymore, Steve. I _am_ happy, without all the things I thought I needed before I could be content. And maybe I could still have those things, someday. But I’m done chasing after dreams and trying to complete a puzzle I was never meant to complete. If those things somehow come my way, I won’t complain. If the pieces fall into place, good. But I’m not going to get carried away trying to orchestrate my own happiness, not when I can decide to just be happy with the way things are now.”

Steve finally smiles for the first time since he’s stepped into her apartment. “I’m happy for you, Nat,” He says, and she’s forgotten how downright sincere and genuine he can sound sometimes. “And I’m sorry for-” Words fail him, and he waves weakly at the empty air, trying to convey a vague outline of what he means. “For all of that.”

She’s feeling particularly charitable this evening, so Natasha simply smiles and nudges Steve’s shoulder with her own. The lengthy opening scene finally comes to an end and the movie’s title appears on-screen. “Just watch the movie, Steve.”

“Hey,” Steve’s eyes light up in recognition as he produces his now-worn and battered notebook out of nowhere. “Now I can cross this off the list.”

As laughter bubbles up her throat and a certain fondness for his occasionally-boyish ways warms her heart, an idea occurs to Natasha. _A friend_ , Steve had asked her to be once. It feels like a lifetime ago, and though nostalgia isn’t a privilege Natasha often affords herself, just this once she feels like going back. Starting over at that point, when the possibilities of their partnership seemed so simple and predictable. She’d liked that: how predictable their future seemed, what their banter and friendship would inevitably lead to. She’d gained a taste for predictability after that, even when Steve was no longer an option. Bruce had seemed predictable as well; maybe she’s developed a new type.

None of that matters now though. Now, Natasha fixates upon the idea of going back to that moment, of starting over as _friends_. She could use a real friend, with Clint so far away and frequently occupied with dirty diapers these days.

“You know, I’ve got one of those too.”

“It’s a pretty common-looking notebook, Nat,” Steve grins. “I think everyone has-”

Natasha shakes her head. “A list. I had a list too, when I first moved here.”

“Huh,” A smile replaces Steve’s grin. “Well, would you look at that? Hey, where are you going?” He asks when Natasha spontaneously gets to her feet and goes off in search of the list. “Wait, do you still have it?”

He gets his answer five minutes later, when Natasha returns with a folded square of yellowed paper. “That doesn’t look ten years old,” Steve observes as Natasha carefully unfolds the paper. He’s never had a firm grip on Natasha’s exact timeline, but she’s barely thirty, as far as he knows, so she can’t have been here for more than a decade.

“It’s a long story,” Natasha says quietly, almost hesitantly. Her hands are gently smoothing out the creased and brittle-looking list, and Steve can barely make out the words _Saturday Night Live_ and _Madonna_ in faded blue ink.

“I’m not going anywhere,” He tells her distractedly, scanning through the list and comparing it to his. He’s found a few familiar titles and names already.

Simple words, but they unlock something in her mind: for the first time in a very, very long time, Natasha realizes she isn’t going anywhere either.

The smile on her lips doesn’t feel big enough to convey the happiness that realization causes her. “Fine,” She concedes, catching Steve’s eye when something in her voice causes him to look up at her. “But you’ve got to promise me something first.”

Steve furrows his brow. A vow of secrecy, he figures, and is a bit disappointed. Natasha should know him well enough by now to know he’s not about to go and tell everyone whatever it is she’s about to share with him. Still, the fact that she’s opening up to him more than makes up for that. “Anything,” He readily agrees.

Natasha’s request leaves him completely baffled. “No grandma jokes.”

“Nat, what-” No, that’s not the right question, Steve realizes as her words sink in. “Natasha,” He asks, a niggling suspicion biting away at the back of his mind as a thousand pieces fall into place. So many little things Natasha has said ( _during the war_ , as if she’d been there; _I remember that_ , when he talks about things long past and he’d always dismissed it as a joke of sorts), so many casual references about things no one her age should know ( _it’s called being a hipster, Rogers; some of those Brooklyn kids know more obscure jazz bands than you do)._ “Natasha,” Steve tries again, keeping his voice steady. “How old are you?”

“Slow down, Captain,” Natasha smirks. “I’ve got all the time in the world to tell you this story.”

* * *

**If anyone’s interested, you can find[a note on my Tumblr ](http://esalvatore3.tumblr.com/post/123291379914/a-note-on-natasha)that offers further insight into Natasha, which I couldn’t work into this story.**

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was a nightmare to write – I’ve had some variation of it outlined ever since I first watched the movie, but whenever I tried to work on it, it turned into something else entirely. I know what I wanted it to be – kick-ass Natasha finding her home without having to anchor it to a man – but I’m not quite sure I accomplished what I set out to achieve. I think that really shows when Natasha has her ‘big revelation’, which is just a jumbled mess of I don’t even know; did any of that even make sense? I hope you guys enjoyed this anyway. Reviews would be much appreciated, if only to assure me I didn't completely mess up.
> 
> And I’m sorry for mangling up Natasha’s back story. I’m practically Frankenstein when it comes to pulling apart backstories and picking out the bits I want to use.


End file.
